“I’ll give it to the inspectors if you think that would be better,” Birk said.
“Ask them. But, again I want you all to be careful.”
We nodded and assured him we would.
THIRTY
It was impossible not to wonder how everything might be connected. I’d been trying so hard to put it all together that my brain hurt. After Birk dropped me off, I went directly to the warehouse just so I could be alone, with the hope that something good would come from some quiet pondering. So far nothing had.
“Why in the world was Ritchie John killed?” I asked aloud, to no one except ghosts who might be hanging out in the warehouse with me.
Ritchie John worked with horses as well as behind a bar. He’d worked for Birk, but I still didn’t know the reasons he’d left except that he seemed scared and in a hurry to go. No one at Birk’s stables could understand why, but there had been a cashbox incident. The money had been returned. Other than that righted infraction, nothing else seemed to have gone sideways the day Shelagh’s horses and people had been at Birk’s stables.
Winston had been in trouble with Shelagh the day I’d met him. I didn’t know anything at all about Winston other than that Shelagh was worried about his alleged drinking and he was Findlay Sweet’s brother.
Despite all the new pieces of the possible puzzle, my mind kept going back to Findlay Sweet. He and Winston were also roommates. Were they up to something together? Louis seemed to like Findlay well enough, but that might not mean anything.
Everyone at the bookshop had gone home. I was the last one there. Rosie and Hector had walked over to let me know they were leaving and that Hamlet had left an hour earlier. An hour or so ago, I’d glanced up at the dark widows along the top of the wall, thinking I should head home too. But I hadn’t. I’d spent more time lost in those brain-cramping thoughts.
I hadn’t visited Findlay and Winston’s flat. I knew where Findlay and Winston lived. Both addresses I’d been given for Findlay—from Hamlet and Jolie—were the same. I’d wanted to visit them, but other things had distracted me, and the police had told me they’d visited all of Shelagh’s employees’ homes. Still, I was curious.
It was as I was looking at both notes again that I remembered something. Hadn’t Jacques mentioned to me that Findlay and Winston’s flat was by Holyrood Palace? I was pretty sure he had. The identical address that Hamlet and Jolie had given me was nowhere near Holyrood. I was suddenly sure that’s why my intuition was nagging me as Tom and I were walking into the police station, pulling my attention toward the palace.
I walked over to the light side, double-checking all the door locks behind me. The lights had been turned off, except for a small lamp on the back table Hamlet had left on. As I came to the bottom of the stairs on the light side, I glanced out the front windows and gasped.
I was living in a real-life snow globe again.
The snow was falling; big, fluffy flakes whispering their way down from the clouds. The Grassmarket lamps and the bustling crowd made me think that Dickens must have somehow seen this particular sight too.
“How in the world did I get here?” I said to myself as I walked toward the window. I could have watched it for hours, but I had other things to do.
I called Tom, but he didn’t answer. I glanced up toward his pub, and though there wasn’t a line out the door, it was obvious by the shadows from the window that there were lots of people inside.
I dialed Birk, Edwin, and then Elias, but none of my rides seemed to be answering. Everyone must be busy.
I wasn’t going to knock on Findlay and Winston’s door without someone else with me, but I still wanted to see it, have a quick look, make sure it really wasn’t by Holyrood. I would look inside the bus, and then just ride back to the bookshop or home, depending on timing.
I texted Tom what I was doing, but there was no indication that he was able to read the text immediately. I texted Elias too, just to be safe.
I bundled up and stepped out into the snow-globe world. As luck would have it, it wasn’t too cold. I was once again glad for my new boots, though.
The bus showed up a few minutes later. I boarded and checked my phone. No response from anyone yet.
Last year the snow had caused a disruption in cell-phone coverage, which had led to some further trouble. I didn’t think that would be the case tonight, and I wasn’t doing anything dangerous anyway, so I wasn’t too worried.
The bus took a route toward Louis’s house, not anywhere near Holyrood. The falling snow softened the building’s sinister edges, but it still seemed run-down. Once we were farther into the neighborhood, it didn’t appear so charming. I tried not to be judgmental, but the obvious signs of drug activity were there.
We traveled through the worst parts quickly and came out to an area on the other side that felt safer, if not completely safe.
Conveniently, the bus drew to a stop right outside the building where I presumed Findlay and Winston lived. Their flat number was 315. I looked out the bus’s window, up to the third floor. Lights were on in the middle of three wide windows. Unless I climbed the stairs inside, I couldn’t know if that was their flat. I looked up for a long moment, comfortably warm and confident that the bus would be heading back toward the bookshop any minute and that I’d seen what I’d come to see. If someone had been with me, I would have knocked on the door, but not now.
Then I saw something that changed everything. I gasped as I stood for a better view. There was a face in the building’s third-floor window, and I was pretty sure it belonged to Shelagh O’Conner.
The bus started to pull away from the stop.
“Stop!” I yelled. “I mean, this is my stop. Sorry.”
Thankfully, the bus driver braked again. I hurried down the aisle toward the door, catching the driver’s impatient glance as I exited. Once I was off the bus, he closed the door and pulled away again. I reached into my pocket for my phone.
It wasn’t there.
I checked other pockets. It wasn’t in any of them. I’d just had it, hadn’t I?
Of course I had. I’d been looking at it on the bus, waiting for someone to either call or text me back. In a flurry of panic when I’d seen the face, I must have dropped it, either on the seat or to the floor.
I looked in the direction the bus had gone. Its taillights were still in view, but there was no way I’d be able to catch it.
“Oh, no,” I muttered. It was the understatement of all understatements.
I looked around. Just a street ago, there’d been people out and about—yes, some were homeless and some were dealing drugs, but I’d have asked anyone to borrow their phone for a minute.
But now everyone had disappeared, gone to seek shelter from the storm. I didn’t see any pedestrians, nor pubs or restaurants. Only buildings made into apartments, flats. I could knock on doors and ask for help, or I could travel back a block to a pub. I was pretty sure I’d seen one a moment ago. And I was just a few streets away from Louis’s house. I could try to run over the slushy sidewalks—I did have my new boots on.
I stepped sideways a bit and looked up at the window. It was still lit, but there were no faces in it anymore. No one standing there. Had I really seen what I thought I had?
I needed to call the police. Just one call to the police—999, that’s all I needed to do. Okay, I’d walk a block or so in the direction I’d come from and make a call at the first phone I found. It would be fine. If I had seen Shelagh, it seemed she hadn’t been in any huge distress. People used to function just fine without cell phones. I could figure this out.
I set out at the quickest pace I could manage given the weather. The snow was quiet now, drowned out by my breathing and the heartbeat in my ears.
I told myself to calm down. It was all going to be just fine.
But a moment later I knew it wasn’t going to be fine. It was going to be something else entirely.
I’d been walking past a close, not giving it a second glance. Before I
could register much of anything, a figure rushed out of it—I saw it out the corner of my eye—in a shabby coat and hat. I didn’t get the chance to fully take in what this person looked like before a hand was over my mouth, an arm around my neck, from behind.
“Hush now,” a harsh voice said in my ear. “If you make a noise, I will kill you.”
My heartbeat got even louder in my ears, but I did exactly as the New Monster said. I stayed silent as I was snatched back into the close.
THIRTY-ONE
The Monster dragged me through the dark, narrow alleyway and then through the apartment building’s back door. Along with the sensation of steel-strength arms around me, I thought I smelled horses.
“I’m taking you upstairs. You are going to be quiet. Do you understand?”
With one hand over my mouth and one around my neck, I still managed a nod. I willed my mind to clear, push away the fear so I could think of how to free myself. Maybe I could kick with my heel, use my elbow, something.
But I wasn’t coordinated enough to do much of anything except keep my feet moving as I was pulled along. I should have let myself be killed before being dragged indoors. This sort of thing never ended well. But it was all going so fast. My thoughts couldn’t quite catch up.
I held on to the idea that there was a chance I would find Shelagh and that since she’d seemed okay when I saw her in the window, I’d be okay too.
We climbed three flights of stairs, seeing no one. What would have happened if we’d come upon someone? Would the Monster have hurt them?
I could hear and feel heavy breathing by the time we made it to the third floor, but the grip around me hadn’t loosened. One of the Monster’s hands reached into a coat pocket as the other remained over my mouth. If I angled my eyes, I could see a hand pull a set of keys from a pocket; they were hanging from a ring adorned with a macramé strip. I’d seen that macramé somewhere. Where? The stables! When Winston was locking the storage cabinet.
Had I not been distracted by trying to remember where I’d seen the key ring, I might have used the opportunity to try an escape maneuver. I told myself that I wouldn’t miss another chance if it presented itself.
Was it Winston who had me? Was the seemingly quiet, mild-mannered horseman the New Monster?
Once the door was open, the Monster shoved me inside, sending me tumbling toward the back side of a couch that was facing the window I’d been watching.
There was a person sitting there—she turned and gasped when she saw me.
“Delaney?” Shelagh said as she reached over to me, her hand landing on my shoulder. “What’s going on?”
I righted myself and took a couple of breaths; my body craved the deep pulls of oxygen. A few seconds later, I looked at Shelagh.
“You’re not hurt?” I asked, my voice gravelly.
“I’m okay,” she said, but her eyes told me she was afraid.
I gave my full attention to the Monster, who was removing a hat.
It wasn’t Winston but someone else I’d seen in the stables, with the horses.
“Jacques?” I said.
“Not quite Jacques,” Shelagh said.
I looked at her and then back at him. “Who are you?”
He only smirked.
“His name is Jack, not Jacques. Jack John and he’s behind all of this, Delaney,” Shelagh said.
“Shut up, Shelagh,” Jack said, with no sign of a French accent and only a slight Scottish brogue.
“Related to Ritchie John?” I asked.
“His son,” Shelagh said.
“Shut. Up. Shelagh,” Jack said.
I’d been so interested in the fact that Darcy was Ritchie John’s daughter, that Hamlet knew her, that I’d never thought about her having siblings.
“What do you want?” I asked him.
“He wants to ruin me, leave me penniless and on the streets, my reputation irreparable.” Shelagh’s words came out fast.
Jack’s eyes simmered as they looked at Shelagh. I wondered if he might hurt her.
“I don’t get it,” I said, hopefully redirecting his violent thoughts. “What’s going on?”
“Enough,” Jack said. “Both of you stop talking. I need silence. Get over on the other side of the couch and sit down, Delaney. I told Shelagh I wouldn’t tie her up if she cooperated. The same applies to you. I’m not going to hurt you, not unless you do something stupid. Do you understand? But I can tie you up, I can hurt you, don’t think I won’t.”
I nodded as I stood. Adrenaline was coursing through me, keeping my frightened limbs from crumbling and sending me back to the ground.
“Give me your mobile,” he said as he extended his hand.
“I left it on the bus.” In a weird but involuntary gesture, I lifted my arms in the air, stick-’em-up style.
“Right.” He sent me a wry frown.
“Truly. You can search me. I was looking up and was so surprised to see Shelagh in the window that I hurried off the bus. I dropped my phone somewhere.”
“Yeah, you aren’t good at sneaky. Peering up in the window, your red hair, those big curious eyes. If you’d just minded your own business or stayed on the bus…”
I bit back some reactive words. I also acknowledged to myself that he was correct. If I’d just stayed on the bus … I could have simply called the police, but when I’d seen what I thought was Shelagh’s face, I felt I had to somehow stay close by.
Jack patted me down quickly and then took my backpack. He rifled through it, and when he was done he threw it on the small kitchen counter next to a square white sink.
It was an old but cozy place, comfortable, with a wide living space attached to a small kitchen. I assumed that bedrooms and the loo were down a hallway off the left side of the kitchen, but it was impossible to see down that way from the couch.
Though sparcely decorated, there were a few things that could be used as a weapon: lamps, a glass bowl.
“Just sit down. Both of you,” Jack said, interrupting my visual inventory.
“I thought this was Findlay and Winston’s place,” I said, turning to Shelagh. “Are they in on this together?”
“I own this building,” Shelagh said quietly as she looked at me. “Findlay and Winston used to live in this flat, but it’s been empty for a while. Jack found that it was in my name. This is where he brought me.”
“Shelagh, enough talking!” Jack said.
I was glad she hadn’t been hurt. She seemed fine, if scared. There was that at least.
I had texted Tom and Elias. Eventually they would figure out where I was, and we’d be okay. Shelagh and I just needed to remain quiet until they arrived. Plus, the bus driver would know at which stop I’d disembarked, if he was asked. I’d made a small scene. In my mind I was ticking off all the good things; there were a lot of good things. We’d be found, if Jack didn’t hurt or move us first.
A phone rang. Jack reached into his pocket and glanced at the screen. “Damn.” He looked at us. “Don’t make a sound or even think of going anywhere. I promise it will end badly.”
Shelagh and I nodded.
“Allô,” Jack said, the French accent returning as he answered the phone. “No, no, I’ll be there soon. An hour or so—will that work? I understand. Of course you’re welcome back. The horses need to be cared for. All right, see you then.” He ended the call.
Shelagh and I looked at Jack as he bit his bottom lip, staring at his phone as if it were going to help him answer a burning question.
He regarded us sharply a moment later. “Don’t move from that couch.”
Jack turned and locked the door from the inside and then glared at us as he moved down the hallway off the kitchen. The second we heard a door shut from down there, I scooted closer to Shelagh.
“He will leave at some point.” I whispered aloud.
“I think so.”
“We’ll get out of here,” I said.
She shook her head. “We can’t. We have to stay here. He has people
watching us from outside.” She nodded toward the window and then the door. “The door is rigged. If we break it, it will set off a bomb and not only kill us but everyone else in the surrounding area. We have to stay right where we are.”
I looked at her. I could hear noises coming from down the hallway, and I knew Jack would be back in a minute.
“No, Shelagh. Unless you’ve seen someone else, he’s working alone. I promise. We’ll get out of here. There’s no bomb.”
“You’re wrong.” Her eyes grew big.
I didn’t know what was going on. Had she been convinced by words, threats he’d made? There was no doubt in my mind that there was no bomb on the door. As for people watching us—I didn’t believe that either. I also didn’t care. Let them watch us escape.
I told myself I’d take care of things once Jack was gone. I scooted back to my side of the couch just as he emerged from the hallway.
He looked at me. “You are being watched from out there. If you try to escape through the windows, you’ll be killed. I’m going to lock the door and re-rig a bomb wired to the door. If you try to break it down, you’ll explode the bomb and kill not only yourselves but lots of others too. Do you understand?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “What do you want from us, Jack?”
“I’ll tell you that when I’m good and ready.”
I nodded but I’d heard the uncertainty in his voice, maybe even some fear. That was good, but I didn’t want him to know I might have keyed in on some of his weaknesses, on the fact that his plan seemed unstable.
A moment later he was out the apartment door, locking it from the other side.
I scooted toward Shelagh again. “There’s no bomb, Shelagh. I promise you. No one else is watching us. We can get out of here. We’ll just give it a second or two so Jack’s far enough from the area.”
Her big eyes got bigger. “No! Delaney, we will die, and we will kill others.”
She was speaking what she believed was the truth. I knew it would take hours, as well as a therapist or two, to convince her that her thoughts or imagination had been manipulated.
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